Through A Glass Darkly
by Rhiann
Summary: Now I know in part, but then shall I know even as also I am known. Alice's story, PreTwilight.
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer_: Twilight_ and all related elements © Stephenie Meyer and Little, Brown and Company 2005. All characters and situations—save those created by the author for use solely in this fan fiction—are copyright Stephenie Meyer __and are used without permission. No profit is made off this story and is for entertainment purposes only._

A/N: I've reuploaded this story, now that I've worked out a few things I need to resolve. Bits and pieces have changed, but not too badly, I think. Chapter two needs to be edited and then it is done.

Another note: I'm looking for a beta reader for this and another piece I'm doing. I'd really like someone who's a little older (at least 18) and has some experience writing. If you're interested, I'd really like to hear from you. You can write me at ladyrhianon at livejournal dot com.

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_Biloxi__, Mississippi__, 1920. _

She was in a white place.

It was the brightest place she'd ever been. The ceiling seemed to push down onto her; she'd never felt so crushed beneath the weight of hot, white light as she did now. It ate at her skin, burned her mouth as she inhaled.

She was dizzy and there was a taste on her tongue of copper and sickness that made her feel as if she'd dried up from the inside. She tried to register where she was and moved to sit up but she couldn't stir her hands, her legs, and the whiteness felt as if it was forcing her to lay flush against the bed.

"Please…" she whispered, praying God, let someone hear and turn off the white.

As if God had heard her, a door seemed to materialize from nowhere, opening just a crack.

"Please," she tried again, but it came out cracked and brittle. She twisted fretfully, struggling against the constrictive sheets.

The door swung open, and she heard- _felt_- someone enter.

"What is it, sweetheart?" The voice was smooth and kind and she tried desperately to open her eyes against the brightness.

It was a man, an older man and somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she'd seen him before, heard him before, because he was as pale as the room around her and the white garments he wore, he blended into the room as if he'd been born there.

"Here," he said, and freed her wrists from the tangled ties that bound them to her bed.

Her hands free and she willed herself to _get up_- but the rest of her was limp; the exhaustion had become too much to bear.

"Mary Alice," he plied gently, and her eyes fluttered open. Alice.

"How are you today?" He took a seat in a chair near her narrow bed after laying her hands gently by her sides. She looked at him, silently pleading him for- what? She didn't even know.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked, smiling in encouragement, and she looked up into his golden eyes. She tried to form words with her lips but they were dry and hard. Her tongue darted out to lick them, moisten the skin and she tried to rake the dryness out of her throat.

"Heaven….?"

Something flickered across his face, and she watched him hungrily, needily, drinking in the distraction.

"No," he stammered. "You're in- you're not…"

He didn't have to say it. She knew where she was.

"It was a very dull day today," he said reproachfully, as if she had something to do with that. The change of subject seemed vaguely familiar. The cadence of his voice, the way he seemed to melt in and out with the walls. Even his manner had an aura of routine in it. Had he been here before? she could not remember.

Moving towards her with easy, unrestrained freedom, the man lifted her gently from the bed, sat her up. "I think it's going to rain today."

"Why…" Words pushed up, broke free, flew out of her mouth.

He smiled. "Why is it going to rain?" It transformed his face into something beautiful, that smile, something stunning, and she wanted to cling to him, beg him to help her, but the pain in her limbs and fire in her head screamed at her in admonishment.

"It isn't going to rain today," she said dully, her throat cracking the last word. Her voice sounded old, dead even to herself.

The twitch of his mouth could not have been called a smile, but his eyes crinkled. "Maybe tomorrow, then." He turned away, his hands busy as she watched without interest.

"Here," he said, suddenly beside her, forcing a cup to her mouth. Almost automatically she drank, the water splashing against the corners of her mouth as she forced herself to swallow the liquid along with the bitterness that coated her throat.

One of his hands supporting the small of her back, he stood up, hovering over her. "Lie back," he encouraged soothingly, and pushed her down as if she weighed nothing at all. The movement made the room spin, and for a second she felt as if everything was going to crash and collide into itself. She must have made some sound of pain, of fear or protest, because he murmured back some comforting thing that was lost to her ears, so she buried her face into his chest and breathed in the comforting scent of him, the smell of his skin lulling her into almost a drugged state of wonderful, beautiful safety. He gently freed himself from her grip, freeing the tight sheet she'd twisted into a long knot and setting her down. She breathed easier. The brightness still bit at her eyes.

"Better?" he asked, and she knew he felt pleased for helping. He sat back in his little chair, observing her.

"Can…" she asked. Maybe he, somehow, would know how to ease the whiteness before she drowned.

"Can I what?" he prompted.

But she couldn't answer him; the air abruptly felt thick, heavier than it had before and her surroundings seemed to melt against her all at once, a buzzing sounded in her ears and her nose and mouth closed up. She could no longer see the doorway or hear

_two came and one left_

No, she thought with rising panic and struggled against him and _it_, not again oh god please no-

_and he left with the blood on his hands on his wrists scrambles to get away while he laughs she shrieked , no, no, what are you doing oh god no please god please don't god help me and the door was shut, the door was shut_

She forced her eyes open, trying to drown out the images, to focus on anything else, but the fire in her head could not be swayed.

_he grabbed her by the waist he grabbed her by the throat and she had tried to pull his hands away and he looked back at the door, the dead room and smiled_

"No," she moaned high in her throat so it was more like a whine, gasping as she tried to cover her ears with her hands, but she couldn't push away the vision of the man's smiling face dancing underneath her eyelids.

"Mary Alice? Mary?" he said urgently, moving to restrain her hands.

_the movement his hands her body_

She screamed and clutched her temples with her hands so tightly the nails bit into skin.

A smell of copper filled her senses and somewhere, the man gasped and swore out loud, shoving himself away from her, she heard the chair squeal in protest but it was all muted in her ears, he would have been a blur if she had noticed and not been screaming- and suddenly, she was free and then they had her by the hands they had her by the legs and again someone clutched her tightly until she was thrust hard into a chair-

"No!" she cried, twisting her head from side to side, trying to shake them off. "Someone help her! She needs someone to open up the doors!" She shut her eyes tightly, willing the vision of the broken body, of blond hair spilled over red blood to leave her.

"Why was she not restrained?" A cold voice in room, cold and low and rough.

"Is it time for another treatment?" Another voice and she heard the man respond, the man who had been beside her, his voice resonating indignantly and then go silent. A door shut and she jerked her hands again with renewed vigor, her eyes themselves forced open against the blinding starkness.

"Please," she begged, and wetness stung her cheekbones and the wounds at her temples. "Someone needs to help her."

Frozen stares, thinner than the brightness looked back at her, they seemed to swallow her whole and find her taste lacking. "Another treatment. Make a notation."

She shut her eyes (her mouth her throat) and wept.

oOo


	2. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer_: Twilight_ and all related elements © Stephenie Meyer and Little, Brown and Company 2005. All characters and situations—save those created by the author for use solely in this fan fiction—are copyright Stephenie Meyer __and are used without permission. No profit is made off this story, and is for entertainment purposes only_

A.N. : I know Stephenie Meyer mentions in _Twilight_ that Alice underwent shock treatments at the mental hospital. However, these were _not_ electromagnetic shock treatments, as those were invented some seven years _after_ Alice was changed in 1920. The type of shock treatments Alice would have had was malaria shock treatments. You can read more about them on wikipedia!

A ton of thanks to ArieSemir, the speediest beta in the West.

oOo

The look on her face as they'd forced her down had been more than Adam could bear. The will to refuse to release her to those _inhuman_- he inwardly laughed at the usage of the word- doctors had almost exceeded his frantic urge to get away from her as quickly as possible. The scent of her blood still haunted him, gnawed at the very edges of his soul, but he closeted it away, striding quickly through the double doors that marked the entrance to St. Anne's.

Outside the coldness of the night air hit him full in the face and he inhaled deeply, more out of habit than necessity. It was a beautiful night. The air was wet and heavy, although a faint breeze would stir occasionally and bring a new wave of sharp coldness. She would have liked the fresh air for once.

Mary Alice.

Inwardly he cursed his own foolishness. He had jeopardized everything, trying to help her, but he couldn't stand watching her like that, seeing her in so much pain. She reminded him so much of-

But he couldn't- _wouldn't allow himself_- to think of it. That was painful, too.

There were days that she was fine, sleeping silently, the steady rhythm of her breathing the only noise that filled the still room she had to herself, due to her tendency to scream if she was subjected to a roommate. And then there were the horrible hours that seemed to last forever, where Adam had no idea_ what to do. _

He could stay away- he should, stay away from her. He stared broodingly at a flower closed tightly against the night air. It wasn't safe for her for him to be near, but still…he couldn't bear to leave her there. She was all alone in that place. The sadness of it seemed to permeate the air around him, and with a melancholy movement he turned on his heel and slowly walked back inside. He had better explain himself.

oOo

"She's calming down now, Doctor."

Dr. Herbert Cade frowned to himself, looking at the frail frame of the patient. "'Brandon, Mary,' isn't it? This is the second time this month."

His assistant looked down at the chart, glancing sideways at Dr. Cade and trying to imitate his look of distasted concern. "Yes. Only two weeks ago."

"Who was it that notified you?"

"One of the night janitors," he said eagerly. "Although I didn't recognize him. An old man, you saw him as he left, didn't you, Doctor?"

Cade glanced at him and the assistant flushed. Impertinent boy. He certainly hadn't the time to notice an aging janitor when he had been half dragged into the screaming girl's room by this fervent little man. His eyebrows furrowed.

"I want to see him," he said decisively. "See if you can find the man and have him meet me in my office."

The assistant nodded his head so vigorously it was as if his whole body bobbed up and down along with it. "Of course, Doctor."

Cade debated vaguely, as he often did when confronted by this obsequious student, to give him some random ludicrous order and see what he would do. Finished with his bout of agreement, the assistant turned on his heel and strode out of the room importantly as if his very life depended on it. Dr. Cade sighed.

Students.

He tapped his chin thoughtfully and looked at the patient. Brandon, Mary. Nothing too special or interesting to tempt him. Schizophrenia, complicated by highly lucid delusions and psychotic episodes. The patient had a history of disliking physical contact, and so he had instructed the other staff to leave her be besides the regular check-ups and, of course, her treatments. Her eyes were beginning to glaze over as the drugs took effect, her skin breaking out into a cold sweat, but at least she was no longer screaming.

One thing Cade would never admit to himself was how much the screaming still bothered him. Especially with this patient in particular.

Her nostrils flared as she sucked in another shallow breath, and Cade was pleased to note she'd relaxed her grip on the sheets and her palms. He frowned again at the marks on her face and wondered how she'd gotten loose of her constraints, when he caught a flutter of movement in her expression. Her lips were moving slowly, almost silently, whispering something over and over.

He had started to lean forward reflexively, but paused, torn. He had better things to do than listening to the ramblings of the insane. But still, out of sheer, morbid curiosity (out of scientific interest, he would later tell himself) he moved forward again, trying to catch her words.

For a minute it seemed as if she'd lost all breath and voice with which to speak. She blew out a ragged stream of words again, her back arching slightly, trying instinctively, he thought, to fight through the episode as well as the sickness coursing through her body. He tilted closer.

"Please…" she whispered, so faintly Cade wondered if he'd imagined it altogether, but she stared at him with terrified eyes. "He's _coming_. "

oOo

It was getting perilously close to dawn and Adam ground his teeth in frustration.

He'd been standing outside the doctor's quarters for nearly an hour, after the pompous little student that nearly ever left the doctor's side had informed him he was expected to explain why he had been caught inside a patient's room.

He had thought momentarily- it was almost a reoccurring daydream, if he was honest with himself- of simply reaching over and snapping his thin, spindly neck with one flick of his wrist. Perhaps the student assistant had realized this, because he had turned snappishly on his heels and strode away.

Resisting the urge to kill- to feed in this place was difficult, nearly impossible. The closer he came in contact with the patients or staff, the more likely the chance he would slip.

Like he had nearly done in Mary Alice's room tonight.

He closed his eyes, as if by blocking out his sight he could make himself forget the smell of her sweet, sweet blood. In that moment, even though he had promised himself he would try and protect her, shield her from the ragged hell her life had become as best he could, he had been inches from killing her in a moment of hot, delicious blood and bone.

He shuddered to think of it. He would have to hunt before he saw her again, and it was too late to start tonight.

There was a muffled cough- as if he couldn't have heard the assistant _scratch his nose_ from down the hall- behind him.

The doctor's assistant- no better than a glorified scribe, but he fancied himself a doctor- was standing off to the side, an annoyed expression gracing his features.

"Doctor Cade says to go in." He mustered up a glare, and Adam smiled grimly back, only belatedly remembering to affect the posture of a man his age.

Dr. Cade's office was Spartan, the only thing adorning the walls were framed degrees declaring the physician's superiority over such common janitors like himself. Adam was rather bitter about the position himself, but professions that allowed one to work only at night were few and far between. Certain…_characteristics_ of his kind made it quite impossible to hold regular employ.

The man himself was short, portly, and losing the battle with his retreating hairline. Adam knew this type of man- so many years among humanity tended to bleed out individuality slowly and painfully. This was the sort of man that would never realize how truly inept he really was.

It was probably why he had ended up overseeing a place such as this, anyway. He felt a little sorry for him, until he remembered the sound of Mary Alice's screams two floors up.

"Ah, the timely Mr. Priar, I am to presume."

Anger flared up in Adam's gut, and he had to force it down. It would not due to lose control of his emotions over a little condescension. _He had not fed. _

He tried to look as old and harmless as possible, pulling his frame into itself to make it look smaller. "The….the man out there said you wanted to see me, Dr. Cade?"

The doctor sighed, and motioned towards the empty chair with a weary gesture. "Sit down, Mr. Priar."

Adam sat, looking obsequiously off to the side of the floor. He tried to ignore the doctor as he launched into an explanation about patients and his duties and _the differences between doctors and janitors_, why it _would not due_ to be caught visiting mentally disturbed patients; all while being intently and fixedly aware of the little man's heartbeat.

"What were you doing in the patient's room, Priar?"

"I…I heard her screaming, Doctor…she sounded like…like she was hurt." He chanced a furtive glance at Cade. The doctor pressed his lips into a thin line.

"That or not, Priar, it is our duty, not yours, to inspect the welfare of the patients." The man sounded tired. Adam stared fixedly at his necktie, and with practiced skill, decided the good doctor didn't have long for this world, anyway. He could read it in the lines of his posture, the fluttering of his pulse. Such a man would wither away in a place like this. Vindictively, Adam was glad…and jealous.

"I don't want you back here, Priar."

Adam nodded along. It didn't matter. He would be back here the next night. No one ever noticed the strange, ancient man mixed in with the rest of the insane. It was a poor chance that the assistant had recognized his uniform tonight.

"You can go. I don't want you in my hospital again."

_Hospital_, Adam inwardly sneered. He inclined his head, trying to look broken up. He thought he actually managed a tremble.

Walking out into the hall (the doctor had barely nodded back, moving into a stack of papers. Adam wished him joy of them.), he paused once, knowing he was near Mary Alice's ward.

_He could go see her_.

He shook his head, clearing it of that thought. He could best protect Mary Alice by getting out of here as quickly as possible; by getting out and finding someone who would not be missed. They were never missed.

He told himself they were never missed.

The grass outside of St. Anne's crunched underneath his feet, his eyes picked out the dull feathers of the birds nestled in the trees, his ears listening to their thimble-quick heartbeats. He'd always- even when he had been alive- had an affinity, of sorts, for nature. Being what he was seemed to increase that part of him- and times like this left him wistful, wondering what would happen if he finally found someone to share it with.

But he couldn't condemn her- or anyone- to this. Not for his sake.

Adam froze. Suddenly, he felt the seasons bend, shift. Autumn was coming. He could feel the wind change, tug at his mind. Fall was coming.

And it was important to note it; the fact that autumn had just sauntered into Mississippi and the winds were blowing in gustily, through the town, past the groves.

Because it was that was the moment that Adam first smelled him.

oOo


End file.
